I write you from a dwindling state of tipsiness and a break from How About We.I pulled atemporary plug on the dating website because I wasn't having much fun seeing the same odd profiles over and over again. Really, you dudes need to make your profile photo a pair of shoes, a banana, or an 85 year young woman? Siphoning through profiles felt stale and I swear I began seeing people from the site while walking around town. After the two month hiatus, I decided I would give it one more go.

Matt listed Muppet Treasure Island as his most watched movie so why not see if he were a muppet or a man? Back to the pool hall we went. Matt shared that he volunteers as a DJ for a local radio station while tending bar at a BBQ joint in my neighborhood. We spoke casually and he did not insist on teaching me how to play pool by grabbing my hand or hip. Already bonus points given my previous experience. I played a measly first game and managed to yell, "I love not getting balls in holes!" On any other night, this would have been accompanied by a "that's what she said" but I looked down and noticed my left breast hanging out of my bra.

You see, I wore tight jeans and a decorative white top, but didn't realize that when I was bending over to shoot pool, my left breast kept falling out of my bra. Freeing itself from its cloth cage and creating a third middle breast. Who needs twins when you can have triplets! I was horrified. Every few minutes, I would walk over to the wall, sip some Magners and adjust myself in what I would like to call the nip and tuck.Sink the nine ball. "Oh, you graduated with a degree in journalism. I studied English down south." Look down. Nip and tuck. Prematurely sink the eight ball. "What did you think of Seattle when you visited?" Look down. Nip and tuck. Note to self, Victoria sucks at keeping a Secret.

Surprisingly, I don't think Matt realized what was going on because he seemed pretty focused on the game. After our third round, we sat down for a few minutes to finish our drinks. At this point, I saw Matt blatantly staring at my triplets and I decided to throw on my fleece. We finished up our date and before parting ways, he asked me on a second date. Go figure.

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I love a good story so don't be shy. Send me your embarrassing dates.

With that, I wish you a happy New Year. May it be not be a total bust!

This week, I visited friends in Houston and on my return home, saw a gorgeous speciMAN. I really wanted to ask him out but was too afraid of being a creep, invasive, or <insert any other word that involves asking a stranger on a plane, train, or bus out on a date>. While completing my oral hygiene cycle (you must floss, brush, and rinse for you only get one mouth), I decide to post my affection online. I wrote a Craigslist Missed Connections.

For those keeping track, I will post Dating Chronicle 5 shortly and take you back to when a new date got a little more than he bargained for while out on the town with me. In the meantime, I will share any squirmy, delicious, or absurd responses I get from Craigslist. Here's to being slightly uncomfortable, and totally out there. And wondering why I used the word delicious.

A few of you made a bet that I would meet a nice guy in Chicago. I'm not one to drag things out so I will just cut to the chase: I had a nice hard apple cider and a three hour conversation with Jefe, a car crash survivor. The normal men I meet are naturally men who overcome great tragedies. It's truly applicable to all the other "normal" in my life.

Jefe recently moved back to Chicago from NC, by way of Atlanta. He attended Wake Forest where he earned his degrees in accounting. His date idea: Go to the Art Institute and do some of the crafts for kids? Last time I was there they were making hats and I really wanted one! Seriously, is this guy for real? He loves the Talking Heads, has seen David Byrne in concert and thinks Naive Melody is their best song. For real! We walked around the Navy Pier instead since the museum had closed for the day.

Before we began anything, he escorted me over to an area where a DJ played hip hop music for seven year olds. This had thoroughly entertained Jefe while I was running late and he insisted on showing me. I almost asked if he wanted to dance, but I didn't have the frijoles to do so. I immediately told him I was visiting Chicago to attend classes at Second City and to go to a music festival with friends (yeah, BWS). I can't have men hopelessly falling in love with me and soon finding out that I have ditched them for another city.

Then I noticed that he had a tracheotomy. Using what little filter I have, I did not point it out or stare at it (you are welcome, Enforcer). He ended up talking about how he basically spent the last two years recovering from a car accident where no one else was involved. He had lain in a coma for two weeks, not able to remember how he drove into a tree. When his mother visited him in the hospital, his first smile came from her offer to get Jefe a dog. He started tearing up while telling the story. Or, it was the result of his gin and tonics. I can't really be sure. We talked about movies, music, his next career move and books. He reads. What? Yes, I said he reads. Although amazing male authors abound, I often forget that men read. It's ridiculous and I am not sure where it comes from since I have a degree in English and my advisor was (still is) male. Oh, me!

After about three hours, I told him I had to go home to have dinner. I couldn't think of other questions to ask and he had already ordered two drinks and kept covering his face with his hands when I would tell him something funny or shocking. He said he had a nice time and we hugged one another goodbye. Of course, a man that doesn't make moaning sounds when slamming his body into mine lives in the mid-west. Of course! And I was referring to a hug. You are better than that, my people!

When Swedish Lief moved in, we decided to take our first trip to IKEA, the land of plenty. We dressed in our finest attire. Swedish Lief wore a yellow soccer jersey from Sweden, while I adorned a Heineken t-shirt and white cowboy hat.

First stop: the IKEA cafeteria. We decided to sample all of the basics. Swedish Lief and I put sanity aside for the IKEA demi-gods, DINERA, ASKHOLMEN, nd FARTFULL. We found out that families repeatedly ate at IKEA since they can pay under $10/person for a massive tray of food. Wild to learn that horse meat could be so affordable.*

The IKEA Triple Crown. It's all fun and meatballs, until you find out you ate Hidalgo.

Once we pownd the meatballs, we packed up the extras to begin our search for Swedish Lief's desk. After about twenty minutes of passing by a dozen fake rooms, I couldn't take it anymore. I seriously zoned out on a bed and Swedish Lief went off on her own. A few customers asked Swedish Lief for directions and price checks because her yellow soccer jersey and jeans matched the IKEA employee uniform. She told me that some of those same customers stared at me, thinking that I needed a store buddy since I had clearly lost my way.

Look, I would expect no less from any of you. All I have to say is that when you are marching around a giant warehouse holding thirty minute old horse balls, you start losing your mind. The balls start to smell and no garbage can in sight is an actual can for garbage. They are props, people. It's all props! You won't find me saddling up to go to IKEA any time soon. I guarantee it!

That's better.

*No horses were harmed in the making of this meal, or so we assume. The horse scare happened across the pond in February.

**If you would like a recipe for Apple Piebald, I suggest you find a real food recipe at Willow Bird Baking, an award winning food blogger and friend.